


and all at once this is enough

by sumaru



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Kiss Day Meme, Kissing, Love Confessions I Guess, M/M, Post-Canon, There's Probably Dicks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-24
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-03-13 12:26:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 14,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18940933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sumaru/pseuds/sumaru
Summary: Oikawa and Kageyama, kissing.In grief. Out of pride. Out of spite. A kiss out of everything except love, which means that it was ultimately, obviously, stupidly, about love the entire time.(A collection of all kinds of kisses.)





	1. a kiss where it hurts

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Kiss Day!
> 
> Working my way through a bunch of prompt requests. Tags are updated with each chapter and specifics can be found in the summaries.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The request was for angst so I tried but listen I'm the least angsty person you'll ever meet my heart is actually just three pounds of rainbow glitter.
> 
> Tags: Post-Canon, Established Relationship

 

 

“You’d think,” Tooru is trembling, his hands fluttering wildly, his breath stopping short every time a word shakes free. He wants to be soft. But there’s something too sharp and unthinkable cutting his chest to pieces. “You would _think_ that Rising Star Of Japanese Volleyball Genius-chan who spends so much time trying to learn from me, you’d think at some point he’d learn my common sense, too. Just a little bit to fill in some of the holes in his head!”

Tooru hasn’t been this afraid since he fell out of a tree at seven years old.

“Oikawa-san, he was drunk—”

“Do you use your brain at all? Or are you really just— just a big stupid Tobio-shaped lump of bad instincts and— and—”

“It’ll heal.” There’s a mulish set to Tobio’s jaw. He’s holding up, barely. But Tooru isn’t done yet.

“Olympic tryouts are in two months!”

There are twenty-seven bones in the hand. Eight of those form the sublime circle of Tobio’s wrist. Tooru holds a list of painkillers and follow-up appointments and things to do and things not to do that’s written down with such clinical detachment he feels almost lightheaded with the wrongness of it. He had spent so long tilting at the wall that was Tobio, with the absolute certainty that Tobio could never break. 

_Fractured in only one place, clean. It could have been worse._

It’s only through a run of hard-fought years that Tooru had learned that, sometimes, you just don’t ask how much worse it could have been. It had been 2AM by the time the hospital had cleared them to leave. They chose not to file a police report — what would they say? Even the team didn’t know about their relationship.

“It was an ugly word. And you aren’t ugly.” They’re sitting in the genkan of their apartment, knees touching, too tired to move, too sad to even turn on the light. Moonlight paints Tobio’s face stark white like a ghost. “I was—”

“You can’t just take a swing every time you get angry! Idiot!”

“I wasn’t angry.” Tobio tucks his wrist with the cast into the shadows of his jacket, scowling. More quietly, “I was scared.”

To live in the world, you had to have a face for everything. It’s something Tooru excels at; he’s just good at people. He always knows exactly what face they want to see, and he has exceedingly pleasing ones. Tobio— his stubborn, straightforward, honest Tobio, he had only one face, this face, this stupidly handsome face with the unrelenting blue-eyed stare that sometimes upsets people, and the wider world was cruel enough to not hold it as dearly as Tooru does.

 _His dear Tobio-chan_. 

Tobio is holding his wrist against his side like a wounded bird. Tooru’s chest crumples like paper.

“And _you_ scared me.” Tooru reaches for Tobio’s injured hand. Two months. He needs to be better. He _needs_ to be better. They’ve both worked too hard not to walk out onto the court together.

“Don’t worry, Oikawa-san, I’ll win at this, too.” Moonlight falls away from Tobio’s shoulders. He looks wide awake.

“This isn’t—”

Tobio lifts their held hands to his lips and kisses them so gently all Tooru can feel is the missing warmth of his breath once Tobio looks at him again. His eyes are steel, already looking ahead. “I’m kissing it better.”

It’s like everything shakes loose in Tooru’s chest all over again. “First of all, who taught you that. Second, that is not how it works!”

Tobio leans in, pressing his mouth slowly against Tooru’s, kissing him so openly, so freely, and it’s like the moonlight blinds him to everything but how warm and solid Tobio weighs against him, and how right it feels, to exist here just like this, in their tiny little genkan, together.

 

 


	2. a kiss out of greed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so horny lol!!!!!
> 
> Tags: Dicks Are Mentioned, This Is A Confession I Guess, Post-Canon

 

 

Two months is nothing at all. Two months will pass in the blink of an eye. Two months might as well be forever.

Kageyama hates waiting when he can do everything he wants to do _right now_.

That familiar smirk. “Now, now, there’s time for—”

A push. A pile of red jerseys. The clatter of metal and wood. Oikawa-san’s back arches up so sharply Kageyama can map the curve of each vertebrae. His skin is so soft, warm and soft and it feels just so _good_ under Kageyama’s hands, he wants it all, Oikawa-san pliant and fluid like he’s arching into a perfect set, the smell of his sweat sharp and peppery where Kageyama’s nose is pressed against his throat. Every time Oikawa-san swallows Kageyama runs his teeth against the skin, following the movement like he can reach right inside Oikawa-san and leave a mark there.

“ _No_ ,” Kageyama grits out, grinding down into the fever heat of Oikawa-san’s lap, the thin fabric of Oikawa-san’s shorts already wet against the fullness of his cock, Kageyama’s long legs shifting precariously against the flimsy locker room bench where he’s perched. “N—no, Oikawa-san.” How can he slow down when he can feel each second ticking off every shiver of Oikawa-san’s skin, gone before he can claim it. How can he stop when he feels so paper-thin, every nerve stretched so tight his thighs shake. Spots flicker behind his eyes. Blood pounds in his chest. Oikawa-san pulls back, narrowed eyes glinting in the low light like he’s reading him, like he’s about to slam a serve right through him, like Kageyama is being played, and—

“Is this the way you confess to all your crushes?” Oikawa-san’s bangs are sticking to his forehead, his mouth is pink and wet and wild. Kageyama wants every last inch of him. “Didn’t think Tobio-chan was this dirty. Thought we’d at least— ahhh, have dinner first, maybe a movie, and if it was empty enough in the theatre I’d—” Oikawa-san is panting. Kageyama can feel his throat move and he mouths wetly against the pulse. “ _Shit_ —”

Oikawa-san hard and hot against him. Oikawa-san’s hands clutching clumsily at his hips like he’s already fucking himself raw against Kageyama’s cock. Oikawa-san’s moaning softly in the cool air of the locker room.

Kageyama has been chasing for so long from the other side of the net and Oikawa-san’s mouth is _right there_. 

Oikawa-san tastes stale and watery, practice sweat salty, lips chapped from a long day under the sun slanting hot and steady through the stadium. Kageyama can’t get enough. Kageyama wants to open up Oikawa-san right here and now, wants to know every way he’d move against him if he reads Oikawa-san just right, too.

“I like you, Oikawa-san, I like you so—”

“Shut up, Tobio, just—” Oikawa-san’s hands are sliding up his chest. Oikawa-san’s mouth is shutting him up, tongue tasting his teeth, wet over a dark nipple, the coarse curve of Kageyama’s knuckle as he hangs on with everything he has.

 

 


	3. a kiss out of pride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pride could have been something sweet and wholesome so of course I went with Oikawa’s worthless pride instead. Oikawa-san just be like that sometimes.
> 
> Tags: Post-Canon, University, Sorry This Is Kinda Horny Again

 

 

“So how many girls have you kissed, Tobio-chan?” Oikawa flutters his hands breezily like he’s asking about the weather. Oikawa is not touching Kageyama. “Look how tall and handsome you are now! Even an idiot like you must have his locker absolutely stuffed with confessions.” Oikawa is not touching Kageyama, he’s watching, he’s watching the way Kageyama’s throat bobs as he swallows, the air between them is a weight pressing down on his chest, hot and heavy in the narrow hallway, and Oikawa is not touching Kageyama, not his strong arms stretching the fabric of that Chuo University t-shirt, not the soft skin behind his ear, not that tantalising strip of pale skin begging to be marked up every time his tan line dips under the neckline when he breathes, not even a little. “Five? Ten? Twenty?”

“I’m not—” Kageyama’s glare flickers, but doesn’t break. “One.” Kageyama’s glare narrows into daggers. Beautiful. Just the way Oikawa likes it. “It was nice.”

“Nice, was it? Just _nice?_ ”

Kageyama’s eyes are midnight even in the late afternoon sun blistering against Oikawa’s skin. Sweat glows at Kageyama’s temple, sticking his bangs to his forehead. Something flashes fever hot and restless at the tips of Oikawa’s fingers. He wants to push the hair back. He wants to dig his fingertips into Tobio’s sweat slick skin. He wants to see the stupid expression Tobio makes when nothing hides any of that stupid face at all. He wants it. He wants. But like hell he’d ever be the first to—

“Please let me pass, Oikawa-san. Someone from the team is expecting me for a tour of the sports complex.”

There’s nothing Oikawa hates more than what he can’t have. But Kageyama here in Tokyo means he’s catching up faster than Oikawa can keep up, and pride might be all that he has left. Like hell.

“Who would have thought an annoying little genius like you would settle for _nice_.”

Kageyama’s fingers are surprisingly cool against his jaw. Kageyama is just the right height to kiss Oikawa’s bottom lip, closed mouth and chaste, testing him, the brat is _testing_ him, but Oikawa is finally touching, Tobio right there for him to take, his greedy fingers wrapping around the curve of Tobio’s hip, the rough denim of his jeans already too much friction, and Oikawa presses his tongue rough and insistent against Tobio’s mouth, feels Tobio shudder under his hands, feels Tobio’s mouth open up warm and wonderful and wet like he already knows just how Oikawa likes it, hell, like _hell._

His breath shakes in his chest when he pushes Kageyama away. Spit shines on Kageyama’s flushed mouth like a treat to be lapped up.

“I’m not sorry!” Kageyama looks unsteady, like he suddenly can’t keep up anymore; his hands are fists at his side, hovering awkwardly in a way they never do on the court. What a year they have ahead of them. Oikawa can’t wait. “But I never settled with you, Oikawa-san. I didn't come here to—”

“Save the grand confessions for later! It seems we’re both running late for the campus tour, and what kind of senpai would I be if I gave my dear kouhai a bad first impression.”

“You’re—”

Oikawa flashes a smile with all of his teeth when Kageyama’s gaze snaps toward him. “Consider Oikawa-san the first illustrious stop of your campus tour.”

 

 


	4. a kiss in grief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you: make it sad  
> me: did u mean really dubious demon king canon crossover hijinks 
> 
> Tags: Canon Crossover, Final Haikyuu Quest, Demon King Oikawa, [Consider It The Bad End Of This](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17366363/chapters/40865027), Character Death, Cannibalism, Everything Is Wild And Dubious

 

 

“It’s just you and me now, Tobio-chan.”

This.

This isn’t it.

Moonlight drips white across Oikawa-san’s face. Moonlight doesn’t drip. It had been just today that Oikawa-san had clapped a warm hand across Tobio’s back when he had slammed a cross-court so perfectly off Oikawa-san’s set, it had sent dust flying into the air like gold. _He_ had felt like gold. Oikawa-san had smiled at him. _Nice kill, Tobio-chan._

This isn’t it.

“You aren’t Oikawa-san.” Tobio doesn’t choke on the words. The air feels like he’s a thousand miles above ground even though he’s still just standing in the middle of the room and his voice thins to breaking, but he doesn’t, he doesn’t. “Who are you? What did you—”

Tobio can’t look. It had been just today that Oikawa-san had smiled at him. Oikawa-san had looked so happy because of him. 

This isn’t it.

It wears Oikawa-san’s face. It’s sitting on Oikawa-san’s bed in their shared dorm. But Oikawa-san is—

Moonlight floods the floor, stains the toes of Tobio’s socks, leaves blurry fingerprints on Oikawa-san’s sheets every time the stranger with the white horns leans back on his hands. He’s sitting with one leg thrown casually over the other, eyes narrowed, tracking Tobio’s movements the same way Oikawa-san stares at him from across the net when he runs into his jump serve.

The exact same way. Tobio’s hands go cold. He thinks about the blue mittens Oikawa-san gave him for his birthday; but it’s summer.

“I’m not going to eat you, Tobio-chan! Don’t be scared!”

Blood pounds in his ears. Five minutes ago, Tobio did not believe in magic. But, “I’m not scared of you!” He’s not lying. He feels beyond fear. 

National team tryouts are next week. Oikawa-san had sat beside him after practice in the fresh green grass of the campus lawn and shared part of his contraband milkbread. _You’re a criminal just like me now, Tobio! You can’t tell coach!_ Oikawa-san had leaned in to whisper the secret and his breath had tickled Tobio’s ear, his heart thundering like a thousand volleyballs bouncing in his chest as that warm mouth had burned the feeling into the shell of his ear forever. But the milkbread was so sweet Tobio must have made a face, because Oikawa-san had poked his cheek and laughed at him. He had laughed like Tobio made him happy the way Oikawa-san makes him happy.

Oikawa-san had stayed sitting so close he could smell the sweet scent of his freshly showered hair, and Tobio’s entire body had ached deeply and wonderfully as he had wondered what it would be like to wake up to that smell laid all across his skin and his pillowcase.

The stranger straightens up. There is no body. It really was just Tobio and— 

“You’re not Oikawa-san,” Tobio grits out. His whole body aches all over again but it’s the cold, his hands are like two blocks of ice at his side, something awful freezing the blood in his chest. “You’re not _my_ Oikawa-san.”

Oikawa-san smiles and his teeth drip white with moonlight, too. “But I could be, you know! His memories are my memories now. You should give me a chance, you’d never know the difference. Or maybe,” Oikawa-san’s eyes go wide, like he’s lining up a kill serve. “Maybe you want me to eat you, too.”

“Please.” His voice is hoarse. Cold stings the corner of his eyes. Tobio feels like the entire world is collapsing into just this room, but he’s never known how to run away. “Give me back my Oikawa-san.”

“Once upon a time, I had a bratty little Tobio-chan.” The horns have disappeared. It’s just Oikawa-san with his ridiculously floppy brown hair and the cute nose scrunch he does when he’s annoyed and a worn Aoba Johsai t-shirt, standing in front of him. Somehow this is far worse; Tobio doesn’t know what to trust anymore. But Oikawa-san’s hands are the same hands, the same calluses, the same warm palms that cup Tobio’s jaw, gently brushing away the tears on his cheeks. Oh.

“But I won’t make the same mistakes again.”

Tobio remembers being afraid of Oikawa-san when he was young, but it’s been a long time since he had felt anything except the shape of their future together.

“If you don’t give him back, I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” Oikawa-san is tracking him again, prey to predator, predator to prey, but there’s no net between them anymore, it’s just the moonlight sharpening itself against his smile. “Will you shoot me full of arrows? Will you find my hidden heart and drive a silver dagger through it? Or will you—” Oikawa-san’s lips touch his cheek, through the track of Tobio’s tears, ice cold, again, and again, and again, “—or will you let me lie in your bed until the sun rises, and I will laugh sweetly against your ear, and you will be my Tobio-chan here in this place, too.”

This close, Tobio can smell Oikawa-san’s hair, and it smells just the way he knows it, sweet like summer.

This isn’t it.

(And Tobio has never known how to run away.)

 

 


	5. a kiss that's Nice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One of the requests asked for 69 as a joke but sorry no refunds you have to own this whole mess now!!!! Also the coach is me, one day you'll be unlucky enough to watch all my volleyball memos fall out of my wallet, but today is not that day. 
> 
> Tags: Post-Canon, Olympics, This Is 90% Drunken Shenanigans And 10% Soft

 

 

Oikawa is: down to just his shorts.

Oikawa is: up on his fifth drink.

“Can one of the nice— nice Australia man— tell me where my—”

A person-shaped blur squints at Oikawa’s hand flapping clumsily at his chest. “Your nips? Still there, mate, looking real perky and great! You want another drink?”

Oikawa would love another drink. Oikawa is just about ready to let it all go now. But he thinks, he _thinks_ , that coach might look poorly upon even Team Japan’s most handsome and beloved captain if he lost his team jersey right off his back, too busy tossing back every pity cocktail that came his way from the rowdy Australian swim team they had ended up rooming with. 

“No, thank you,” Oikawa tries slowly, the English awkward on his tongue like glue. Oh, he’s gonna feel this one tomorrow morning. “I’m looking for— for my—” He points at the air, draws invisible shoulders and sleeves like he’s conducting the world’s sloppiest orchestra. “My top?”

“Are you looking for Kageyama?” Another person-shaped blur puts a steadying hand on his shoulder.

“Ushiwaka-chan!” Sober as the day he was born. Of _course_ he is. “Have a drink! It tastes like oranges and glitter.” Oikawa shoves the rest of his cocktail into Ushijima’s hands. The serious face cracks just a little with amusement. “I set ten thousand balls to you and we still didn’t win, so you should be drowning your sorrows like the rest of us, you weirdo.”

“Thank you, Oikawa.” Ushijima looks into the cup for one whole second and then slams it back. A bit of gold glitter clings to his upper lip. “Hmm. The Australians dragged Kagayama away. I think you’ll find him by the, ah. Photo fountains.”

The fountains are actually a tourist trap of water sculptures and fairy lights meant for selfies, designed to rapturously capture both the lush rise of the Hollywood Hills and the dizzying height of human something or other, who even _cares_ , Oikawa yelps as he stumbles back, narrowly avoiding getting splashed in the face. They were twisty things that were creepy as hell at night and indiscriminately sprayed everyone within a ten metre radius, and one of them looked like a fully erect dick, so everybody except Ushiwaka-chan called them “the dick pic”. 

( _Want to take dick pic together_ is the only English phrase Miya had bothered to learn, smirking as he lets the concerto of water soak his t-shirt transparent.)

Los Angeles had been miserable and magical. 

Two setters dominating the court. The doubts had cast long shadows, every interview tilting the narrative one bitter way or another, but when they had stepped out into the Tokyo stadium for that first time all those years ago — the lights had shined like so much gold poured right into their eager hands, washing them clean. Coach had pointed to the storied captain-setters that had finally put the women’s team back on the podium in London. _I know you and Kageyama have history. But he grew this strong partly because of the seeds you planted in him. It's because of this history, that the two of you can achieve something together, that nobody else ever could._

Countless hours working away all their jagged feelings, pressing the coal of them into diamond sharp plays run with such precision, taking on the entire world had seemed a little less impossible. Oikawa leading from the front. Kageyama leading from the back. They truly thought Los Angeles was going to be their year.

What’s a lifetime of coming up short if you don’t do it again when it matters most?

Oikawa knows he has plenty of Olympics left in him. But he really thought— he really did. All these years and it turns out he’s been able to let go of absolutely nothing. It’s like ice water to the face, sobering.

“—meant for— the top— we were— he was going to—” 

Kageyama’s English is even more garbled than it usually is, weaving in and out of the water columns. Oikawa sees the telltale flash of red, flapping in the evening air as it gets thrown high. What did those Australians even pour into Kageyama’s unquestioning mouth? Something warm pinches Oikawa’s chest. This idiot. 

“You think you can just steal my captaincy, huh, Tobio-chan!”

“Oikawa-san?”

Even drunk, Kageyama’s aim is achingly, beautifully perfect. Oikawa watches, fondly, a little annoyed, in complete resignation, as his jersey snags the top of the dick sculpture, unfurling like a red flag, proudly displaying Oikawa’s #1 like a prize for all to see. 

“I’m tremendously sad Iwa-chan isn’t here right now, so I could make a bet on what kind of nonsense is about to come out of your mouth.”

“It’s where we should be!” Kageyama’s cheeks are flushed red. His eyes are shining so bright and fierce. “The top! We should be! Oikawa-san should be— at the top!”

Oikawa watches as the glow of fairy lights turn the white of his #1 to gold. The hurt is too fresh, but he’ll manage. The captain always does.

A smirk, “Oikawa-san is always at the top.”

“Not like that, Oikawa-san.” Kageyama looks a mess, dark hair mussed up, sweaty and sticky and his own jersey clinging darkly to the strong slope of his shoulders where the water sprays had gotten him, and he’s so magnetic like this, wild and uncontained and still _on_ despite being off the court, and Oikawa can’t stop looking. “There was so much I—”

“Four years, Tobio.” He’s using his captain’s voice. His hands gentle on Kageyama’s shoulders are a captain’s hands. The night seems suddenly quiet even though the athletes village is raging incandescent, and it’s so gorgeous under the stars, Oikawa wishes they could be doing something happier than this. “In four years, I’ll put that gold around your neck.”

“Not if I put gold around yours _first_.”

How is Kageyama this impossible. Oikawa snorts, “Is my dear kouhai-chan proposing to me?”

Kageyama just grunts, dropping his forehead into the crook of Oikawa’s neck. He smells wispy and sweet, like sangria, and Oikawa can’t help but press his lips to the crown of Kageyama’s head, letting the night seep quiet into his bones too, finally letting himself be as wildly, crushingly sad as he had wanted to be all evening, sheltered in the spray of this stupid dick fountain, given just this one fleeting moment to be something small and young all over again.

“Feels nice,” Kageyama mumbles drunkenly as Oikawa sniffles back his tears, his arms wrapping warm and solid around Oikawa. “You’re nice.”

How much Kageyama has grown. How much he has, too. Oikawa presses another kiss into the crown of Kageyama’s hair, for good luck, for everything that is to come.

“Hmm. Tobio-chan is sometimes nice, too.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote 1k just to hyena laugh to myself about Oikawa and Kageyama switching. I hope you know this. It's important to me that you know this.


	6. a kiss out of spite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is!!! Something lol. 
> 
> Tags: Post-Canon, University Rivals, Miya Atsumu Is There

 

 

The net cuts Oikawa-san’s smile into neat little squares.

“Well, well, well. Good game, Tobio-chan.”

It _was_ a good game. Kageyama’s whole entire body burns with exhaustion, but the win spills warm and wonderful into his chest, and it just feels so _right_. He nods a slight bow. “Good game, Oikawa-san.”

“My dear kouhai has truly grown up and flown ahead! Three wins to one since he came to Tokyo,” Oikawa-san hums, holding a hand under the net for a handshake. Sunset lights up Oikawa-san's brown hair, softens the sharp edges of his jaw to gold. Kageyama’s chest tightens — it’s only been a few practice matches against Oikawa-san’s university, and he still feels like he’s watching something new and amazing all over again.

“Looks like Oikawa-san is the one who needs new tricks if he’s going to hunt down such a stubborn little bird!”

Kageyama stares at the white teeth, the outstretched fingers, the smiling eyes cast in shadow. Why does it feel like a trap?

“Oikawa-san—”

“Tobio-kun, we’re all waiting for you! Stop fucking around! Drinks on coach! Let’s go!” Miya-san shoots him a dirty look from the gym doors, letting them bang close after him. 

Oikawa-san’s eyes narrow. His mouth twists into a leer. “Stop _fucking_ around, Tobio- _chan_.”

His hand slides under Kageyama’s jersey, too fast to follow.

Kageyama has laid in bed and thought of this before. Oikawa-san’s hands, spread large as he sets the ball. Long elegant fingers wrapped tight around a water bottle, wet and slick with condensation. If the calluses under the fingertips would feel just as rough as his, if the palm just as hot and smooth and good, and they are, these hands, Oikawa-san’s _hand_ is right _on_ him, and Kageyama’s breath tumbles out in an embarrassing little noise as Oikawa-san’s fingers dig painfully into his ribs, blunt nails scratching as he grabs the fabric and yanks Kageyama close.

Oikawa-san is kissing him. The net cuts painfully into Kageyama’s bottom lip but Oikawa-san’s mouth is fever hot on his and Kageyama feels like he's burning at a hundred degrees.

He wants to— he wants to taste just how hot Oikawa-san is.

He wants to touch the curve of Oikawa-san’s cheek, wants to run his hands through that soft hair, wants to slide his fingers along the inside of those arms, but Oikawa-san uses his free hand to slap his away. 

“That’s good enough for you,” Oikawa-san hisses against Kageyama’s mouth, pulling away. His breath rattles in his chest but Oikawa-san is breathing hard, too, eyes too bright, hand still fisted inside Kageyama’s jersey. Kageyama’s heart is in freefall, dizzying and terrible. “I see that little gremlin finally wormed his way to your side. Did he teach you anything exciting? Maybe you finally learned to do something useful with that stupid handsome mouth of yours.” 

Oikawa-san leans in, licks slowly at Kageyama’s bottom lip as he shivers. His shoulders ache with how he’s holding himself back. He wants. He _wants_. “I’ll let you show me if you’re good.” Oikawa-san’s mouth slides wet against his and Kageyama would swallow him whole if he could right here, right now, Oikawa-san smells of warm skin and salt, Oikawa-san won’t let him—

“No touching, Tobio-chan! Just your mouth, like a good boy.”

Sweat trickles into Kageyama’s palms, hands hanging limp again at his side. Frustration boils in his gut. He _wants_ to be good. “Let me touch you, Oikawa-san!”

Oikawa-san smirks, and finally lets go of his jersey. “Maybe at five wins for you.”

“Or maybe five wins for _you_ ,” Kageyama throws right back, leaning in, nose brushing the net as he touches his tongue to Oikawa-san’s mouth, heart thundering in his chest as Oikawa-san’s fingers circle his wrist, tangling them closer.

 

 


	7. a kiss in public

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You know, I was gonna write kissing booth shenanigans and fleece one of them lol but I’m feeling too soft and tender… love to give myself emotional whiplash like this, y’all. 
> 
> Tags: Post-Canon, Established Relationship, Kissing Booth, Miya Atsumu Is There Again

 

 

“Hmm, if _you_ want me so badly, it’s gonna cost you a nice 2000 yen, Oikawa—” Miya slides the glass jar forward, his winner’s smile that of a well-fed fox. “— _san_.”

Oikawa is gonna murder him. He doesn’t care anymore. This is it. Coach might have some things to say about it, but today on this gorgeous, bright summer day, Oikawa is finally going to put Miya Atsumu into the dirt where he belongs.

There’s already a line forming behind Oikawa for the volleyball team’s kissing booth. He can hear the curious laughter floating in the golden air, feel the heat of the sly glances blistering on his back. Rumours have been following Oikawa around campus for the past month, ever since Tobio had accidentally shown up to morning practice in a faded Aoba Johsai t-shirt. He had looked good in the teal. The smell of Oikawa’s shampoo had lingered on Tobio’s skin, a bright citrus that suited him, and it had felt like nothing, nothing in the entire world could touch the simple joy that had knotted Oikawa’s chest something awful, to know that all of _this_ was his, his and fragile, his and still so fraught — the way Tobio had leaned strong and limber into Oikawa’s hands for his stretches, the way he had looked to Oikawa, eager and hungry for anything even though the sun was just risen and new.

Rumours had been crawling in Oikawa’s shadow ever since he graduated high school but Tokyo had felt different. Bigger. A bigger world that could hold all of him and everything he could want.

“Forgot my phone after practice,” Tobio grunts. “He’s just here to give it to me, Miya-san.” Tobio doesn’t kiss strangers. Tobio is just here to help run the booth for Miya who absolutely does kiss strangers, but somehow, suddenly, impossibly — Oikawa finds himself trusting Miya even less than he usually does.

Oikawa matches Miya smile for smile, teeth for teeth. “And maybe Miya- _kun_ should stop trying to fuck his way to real talent.”

Miya’s smile thins, bleached bone under the sun.

It’s Oikawa’s last year at Chuo University and Tobio is already getting offers from teams around the world. Oikawa doesn’t care. He doesn’t. At all. He’s read about Paris, about Los Angeles. They’ll always have somewhere to go.

“That’s not the fucking I’ve been hearing about.” Miya is not looking at him. Miya is unreadable, looking at the crowd, looking at him.

Tobio had once mumbled sleepily into Oikawa’s hair that it didn’t bother him, that he’s here to play all the volleyball he can, to beat Oikawa-san once and for all, and that was good enough for him. Oikawa had just kicked his cold feet against Tobio’s legs under the comforter, _Tobio-chan is still such a brat_.

His. All of this, his.

Oikawa can hear the twittering behind them change in tone, can feel the way laughter is being wielded like knives. Tobio might not feel the first nick, or the second, but even he’d bleed from a thousand tiny cuts. 

“For someone who calls himself my friend, Miya-san is an asshole—”

The twittering is the buzzing of cicada in the trees, the laughter is the overwhelming sun burning his shoulders through the thin cotton of his t-shirt. Oikawa feels lightheaded. Summer had always been his favourite season, and he wonders if it’ll still be his favourite after today.

“—and the first one for you is free, Oikawa-san.”

What?

Tobio always forgets to use chapstick no matter how many tubes Oikawa stuffs into the back pocket of his jeans. The lips that brush Oikawa’s cheek are rough, but they’re _Tobio’s_ , dear and warm and the shape so achingly known, and yet unknown to the world, it’s like that evening Tobio had confessed to him four months after coming to Tokyo, shy and greedy in the way his fingers had grabbed clumsily at Oikawa’s jaw, had breathed _Please show me, Oikawa-san_ against his temple.

Tobio is smiling, a small smile, the one that crinkles the edges of his mouth. His happiness glows on him, and all at once, this is what Oikawa has been waiting for, this is enough. They’re enough, and the world will simply have to follow. 

“But the next kiss will be 2000 yen, Oikawa-san. Please put the cash in the jar, it’s for charity.”

“This is extortion, Tobio-chan! I’m calling the police!”

 

 


	8. a kiss on a place of insecurity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oikawa’s insecurities seem almost too elementary at this point to be wholly engaging, so I went with Kageyama instead, and damn y’all, who knows what happened here. 
> 
> Things to consider: 
> 
> 1\. captain Tsukishima and vice-captain Kageyama in their third year  
> 2\. once Datekou gets its very stupid shit together it’s over for you bitches 
> 
> Tags: Pre-Relationship, Clothes Sharing, Indirect Kiss, Sorry This Got Away From Me

 

 

“ _Tch_ ,” Tsukishima says like he’s letting go of a deep sigh.

There’s nothing else in the entire world. Just that. Just them. Just this. Maybe if Kageyama doesn’t breathe, it’ll stay frozen like this forever. His lungs are on fire. His palms sting from the block. Just maybe.

The whistle blows everything apart.

“Hey King,” Tsukishima is saying. Everything suddenly feels so far away. The thundering crowd might as well be cicada in the trees, electricity buzzing along the wires. “King, if you can’t— hey, just get the first-years lined up.”

“I,” Kageyama starts. He swallows. The burning just gets worse. The sun is boiling in his stomach and everything aches. His chest aches. It’s aching so much. “Okay,” Kageyama says. “Thank you, Tsukishima,” Kageyama adds, something instinctive rushing up to meet him, and he can’t stop it. “Thank you for these three years, captain.”

“Thank you, _vice-captain_ ,” Tsukishima clicks his tongue at him, but his face is turned away, hand rubbing at his cheek.

Datekou’s setter with the funny hair wants to shake Kageyama’s hand, so he does. One of their sobbing first-years needs a tissue, so Kageyama gives him one. Yachi-san is clutching her clipboard and putting on a brave smile, the one that wobbles like sunlight over running water, and Kageyama _knows_ that smile, he’s learned so much, he’s learned three years of that smile and three years of working so hard to know all these things and be _better_ and three years of wanting everything so damn much and finally, finally it was supposed to be him leading Karasuno again to—

“Kageyama-kun,” Yachi-san says gently, handing him a tissue, too.

Hinata claps him on the back and his hand stays there, warm, pushing him forward a little and Kageyama’s thighs don’t shake at all as he bows to everybody in the stands who came out to support them at the prefecture finals, his thighs don’t shake even one damn bit, maybe.

 

 

*

 

 

The sun is setting behind a cluster of grey clouds by the time Kageyama is walking back home. Ukai-san and Takeda-sensei had made sure to feed them well, but something still clenches in his stomach empty and horrible. He feels completely scooped out. Hollow inside. Their second-year setter had cried the hardest at the table and the bottom of Kageyama’s stomach had fallen away as he had stared, words stuck in the mouthful of rice on his tongue. _You did your best. We all did our best. You made us stronger. I’m proud of you. I’m counting on you to take Karasuno back to Nationals next year._

Hinata had simply reached out and ruffled the boy’s hair, and just like that, a watery smile had lit up the boy’s face. “Don’t worry, Hinata-senpai,” their second-year setter had said, suddenly brave all over again. “You can count on me for next year!”

Kageyama had just watched, had just swallowed all his words down with his food, but no amount of rice seemed able to fill him up.

How did Hinata make it seem so simple?

 _Use your words,_ Tsukishima had once told him while they were hunched over their notes in the club room, debating how to best position the front row for defense. _Not your face, King. I don’t care what your stupid fanclub says, it’s not doing you any favours._

“I’m proud of you,” Kageyama mumbles at the sky streaked through with grey. He thinks suddenly of the sports scholarship offer from Chuo University that’s on his desk. He thinks of all the things they’ll be expecting of a setter, a vice-captain — a leader. Someone who inspires with just a single word. “You did your best.”

Lightning crackles in reply.

There’s a 7/11 two blocks away and Kageyama sprints, cutting under the awning as the first drops hit the pavement. He has just enough change in his pocket for the vending machine, and really, it’s not a bad way to pass the time, can of coffee warm in his hands, the rain a blurry sheet of grey. It like he’s in another world completely, it’s like being washed clean of this awful day, somehow, even though the rain doesn’t touch him at all.

“Shit! Shitty shit shit!”

A spray of rainwater mists him as someone ducks for cover, too late to avoid the deluge. Strong shoulders, brown hair so familiar, Kageyama thinks he actually must be in another world now, he must be. “Oikawa-san?”

Oikawa-san’s bangs are plastered to his forehead, he’s in nothing but bright blue jogging shorts and a white t-shirt so wet, Kageyama can see the tan outline of his stomach, the sharp curve of his hip. This is so much like a dream Kageyama once had before that he can’t stop looking, even if he wanted to, coffee burning in his mouth.

“Tobio-chan! What an unpleasant surprise!”

Kageyama swallows thickly. His dream had definitely not gone like this. “Hello, Oikawa-san.” His mouth feels numb.

“Make yourself useful and—” Oikawa-san runs his hands through his soaked hair and rainwater pours through his fingers. “Ugh! This sucks! This is the actual worst!” A shiver runs across Oikawa-san’s shoulders as he wraps his arms around himself, glaring at Kageyama. “You made this rain happen, didn’t you!”

Frustration rushes into Kageyama all at once, hot and bitter like black coffee, burning right through. This wasn’t fair. This wasn’t— “This wasn’t my fault!” _You did your best. I did my best._ “Even if I say sorry, it still wouldn’t be my fault!”

“Do you want it to be?” Oikawa-san’s eyes lock onto Kageyama’s face and something twists in his stomach, fearful and electric and tingling, like Oikawa-san’s full attention was cutting him up into little pieces to look at one by one, with nowhere to hide. “I watched your last match today, you know.”

“Oh.” His fingers catch the edge of his jacket sleeve. It suddenly feels too big and overwhelming to wear the Karasuno across his back. Everything suddenly feels too hot on his skin.

“Annoyingly brilliant, as usual, but that’s not your problem, is it, Tobio-chan? I know you’ve also been accepted to Chuo University, but if you think that means I’m just going to tell— wait, what are you doing?”

“You’ll complain that I made you catch a cold,” Kageyama grimaces as he drapes his jacket over Oikawa-san’s shoulders. Oikawa-san’s eyes go wide. The rain glows in them and Kageyama sees himself mirrored there, sees himself here, as tall as Oikawa-san now.

Kageyama doesn’t want to hide, not like this, maybe.

“Tobio-chan thinks he’s so clever, does he, trying to win himself favours!” But Oikawa-san pulls the jacket close anyway, nesting himself into the soft black fabric like it belongs to him, and it really must be another world, because Kageyama thinks he sees the titter of a smile light up the corner of Oikawa-san’s mouth, and the rain doesn’t feel as cold anymore, the day maybe a little less awful and sad. “You know, if you really wanted to warm me up, you should have offered me something else!”

A raindrop trails glistening and wet against Oikawa-san’s throat and Kageyama’s blood runs hot in his hands. Sometimes he wonders if he’ll ever understand Oikawa-san at all. “Did you want the rest of my coffee?”

“I— you know what, sure. Sure, why not, give me your stupid coffee!”

Oikawa-san glares at the can in Kageyama’s hand, the smudge Kageyama’s lips left against the rim. “I came back here all the way from Tokyo for this. I can’t believe this is happening. I seriously can’t believe this is happening. I feel like I’m being scammed!”

“Oikawa-san?” 

But Oikawa-san just plucks the can from his hand, slots his mouth right over the smudge, eyes never leaving Kageyama’s face. 

“I hate coffee,” Oikawa-san mutters.

“You don’t have to drink the coffee if you don’t want to.” Everything is electric all over again, confusion a knot lodged thick in his throat. Kageyama thinks maybe this isn’t about coffee anymore, but it doesn’t feel like it’s about volleyball, and if it isn’t about volleyball—

“I can _see_ you thinking it, Tobio-chan!”

_I’m proud of you._

“Are you—” Kageyama knows it’ll never be easy, but he didn’t think it would be this hard, either, but he’ll be better, he’ll keeping working for _better_ , until all the words he wants to say can be said. He'll one day beat Oikawa-san in this too, maybe. “Did you like what you saw today, Oikawa-san?”

“I didn’t hate it.” A titter again.

And Kageyama understands this much, maybe.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tremendously excited to be writing fic at 5AM because I don't know how not to keep dumb bitch hours, truly love that for me, and I hope you can all appreciate the moment I lose the thread because Oikawa voice at some point becomes my voice as I scream about being emotionally scammed like this.


	9. a kiss in hunger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I'm back on my bullshit and finished something that's been hanging about for a special request. Please mind the tags. Like, feel free to just entirely skip this one, I'll have something less messy soon. :) 
> 
> Tags: Final Haikyuu Quest, Demon King Oikawa, Romantic Cannibalism, Blood, Explicit Sexual Content, Who Doesn't Love A Forest Wedding

 

 

“This is going to be for forever, Tobio. Forever and _always_.”

Moonlight drips white across Oikawa’s spired horns, his heart spilling raw and open. “Do you even know what that means?” Oikawa breaths in, breathes out red. His heart is an empty space, each beat a shudder that shakes him, aching to be filled. “Does my dear little archer prince even know what he’s asking for?”

“I— _ah_ , I do, Oikawa-san.” Kageyama’s mouth goes slack as his throat works around the words. “ _Yes, Oikawa-san, please._ ” His back arches sharply against Oikawa-san’s claws carving a path into his hips. It stings fever hot, blood running in easy rivulets down the back of his bare thighs as he seats himself fully in Oikawa-san’s lap. Kageyama can taste the dizzying salt of himself thick in the air between them. He’s red and wet with Oikawa-san, he’s dripping so wet he can taste it on Oikawa-san’s tongue when he bends down to eagerly chase the corner of his mouth. It tingles. There’s a trace of sweet magic still left. For him, and he _wants_.

Oikawa bites him. “Greedy brat,” he titters, fondness a delirious rush as Tobio jerks back and hisses, lip bleeding, and Oikawa licks slowly into Tobio’s mouth, smearing red against their teeth — a vow of blood, of the earth, of a heart that tastes so clear and sky blue, it has always been Tobio’s, unmistakably so. It doesn’t matter what Oikawa feeds him, what Oikawa fucks into him, Tobio always tastes like himself even at the back of Oikawa’s throat, and it’s utterly, wholly unbearable. All of Tobio is unbearable, too much, too strong — Oikawa wants to swallow him up whole.

“Haven’t you eaten your fill yet by now?” Oikawa smirks as Tobio grinds back desperately into his lap. Tobio is hot and tight and wonderful, smelling like a deer freshly slaughtered as Oikawa takes him inch by inch, pleased he can smell himself marked on the soft skin of Tobio’s throat and the inside of Tobio’s thighs. Lets himself admire his work in the streaks of milky white drying on Tobio’s stomach from when Tobio had first spilled so quick and easy just for him, in the sinew and muscle and bone chipped into Tobio’s skin from when he had loosed his silver arrows with achingly perfect aim at Oikawa’s chest.

“Always coming back for more! Always asking your Oikawa-san for help!”

Oikawa can smell the salt of Tobio’s tears, but there’s only the promise of a sharp midnight in Tobio’s eyes in return.

Blood isn’t as slick as oil and Oikawa-san fills Kageyama so completely and utterly, he’s going to break, heart breaking completely open just like Oikawa-san wants him to, but not like this, he won’t, he can’t, but— he can’t stop. He’s never been able to stop wanting what he wants. Oikawa-san’s fingers are in his hair, Oikawa-san’s fingers are in his mouth, Oikawa-san’s fingers are brands burning themselves against the curve of his ribs as he slides them up Kageyama’s sides to pull him closer. “You— you never—” Kageyama’s breath hitches as he fucks himself eager and deep on the length of Oikawa-san’s cock, head thrown back, a moan tumbling unheeded into the air as Oikawa-san digs deeper, too, the canopy of the dark summer trees whirling at the back of his eyes, skin pliant, spread wide. “You never— _ah_ , say no.”

“Oh, that’s because when Tobio-chan has eaten his fill, I get to eat _mine_.”

It’s the thundering of his heart beating wildly, it’s his groans pounding like blood in his ear, it’s Oikawa-san’s claws curling tighter and pressing him so close he can feel the burning hollow where Oikawa-san’s own heart is supposed to be. It feels almost gentle, it feels almost kind. But Kageyama’s cock aches untouched, skin prickling electric too tight, his heart too big for his body, and no matter how he desperately spreads his thighs, it’s still too much, too strong, too full — he just wants to take all of Oikawa-san whole. There’s nothing else in the entire world except Oikawa-san inside of him, fucking him so raw and rough it’s like something molten pulling his guts red and alive around the long clawed fingers of Oikawa-san’s elegant hand.

“More,” Kageyama grunts. He’s close, shaking impatient. The green grass on the forest floor smells summer sweet but Oikawa-san’s magic curls even sweeter around the sharpness of his mouth. “I can take it. I’ll take it all, Oikawa-san!”

“Ah, so needy, Tobio-chan,” Oikawa tuts cheerfully as he holds Tobio’s hips down, Tobio squirming, straining in his lap with the wild rush of it. “But since you asked so nicely!”

There’s one one more bite of Oikawa’s heart left.

He feeds Tobio the mouthful, blood red mouth working around the muscle, eating up each of Tobio’s delightful little choked noises, tongue greedily tasting himself spilling into the red inside of Tobio’s mouth. When Tobio swallows down he comes hard, the bow of his spine curved almost to breaking as he paints their laps milky fresh. The smell of copper and salt hangs like the beating of a slow heart between them. His, and his, and theirs together.

“Messy,” Oikawa smiles as a claw gently traces an X over Tobio’s heaving chest, marking his spot. “But cute. All of it my Tobio-chan.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (tswift voice) you need to calm down
> 
> You know, one day I'll write a totally mundane explicit work, but today at 5AM is not that day. Sorry this went further off the rails than I wanted it to... consider this a special edition.


	10. a kiss out of love 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't really know what I'm doing anymore but y'all I'm really going through it. 
> 
> This was supposed to be a kiss out of love, but it's a story about everything except love, which means that it was ultimately, obviously, stupidly, about love the entire time.
> 
> [(A laundromat for visual reference.)](https://66.media.tumblr.com/7ebaf7441d4358acccef8dc07bc74e8c/tumblr_pu4prdkl6w1sat18ao1_1280.jpg)
> 
> Tags: Post-Canon, University, Injury Recovery, Getting Together, Meeting In A Laundromat Like A Sucker

 

 

Oikawa’s knee gives out just before he starts his third year of university.

Maybe he had been expecting it. Maybe even accepted it when he was at his lowest, no longer having to hold his breath every night for years and years, waiting for the weight of his breaking body to finally crush him. And maybe the path of his life wouldn’t have changed so drastically if plain rotten luck hadn’t seen it happen when he was mid-serve — it’s actually the hard, stumbled landing on the smooth wooden floor of the gym that finally rips his stressed ACL to shreds. 

The first surgery is a success, and he cries when he’s finally alone in his hospital room, ugly, exhausted sobs, afraid of being given even the tiniest spark of hope.

The second one is less so, and he’s so numb he doesn’t cry at all.

Oikawa knows he’s good but he’s never been a guarantee. Coach is sincere when he says you never know what the future holds, that one of Oikawa’s most formidable talents is that he’s never given up on anything he’s put his mind to, and Oikawa is so touched that when he thanks coach for his guidance the last couple of years, the warm rush of his own sincerity catches him by surprise. He hangs onto it with everything he has, uses it to firmly stick on his best face, and manages the entire four hellish minutes it takes him on his crutches to seclude himself in the unused bathroom in the admin facility before he starts to cry so hard, it feels like someone has reached into his chest, yanking out piece after piece of all that’s ever mattered, until there’ll be nothing left of him when he’s done.

It takes Oikawa a good ten minutes of furiously splashing cold water on his face before his eyes are no longer red and puffy. Another five to fluff his hair and his entire life back into place, and he goes to meet his lunch date with a smile plastered on perfectly, not one minute late.

 _It must be my lucky day,_ she says. _You’re always rushing from one thing to another and I end up having to wait!_

At first it’s hard. And then it gets a little bit easier. And then one day, Oikawa wakes up and manages to convince himself that it even feels like freedom.

How can it not, when he feels so weightless inside?

Every night has become like this, just him lying in bed, his chest a wide, empty, aching open space that can do nothing but breathe in, and breathe out, and breathe in again. An endless, known cycle; the uninterrupted shape of his life as it is now.

 

 

*

 

 

 _Are you going to come home?_ Iwa-chan asks him one day over the phone.

His best friend had accepted a co-op back in Miyagi and had moved to Sendai in the spring, but he’s been checking in on Oikawa almost every day since he started therapy, and it makes Oikawa wonder just how much exhaustion he’s accidentally leaked into his voice over the last month. He’ll have to work harder at that, too. They’re not kids anymore and Iwa-chan needs to be out there living his beautiful life, not— not picking up after all the stupid broken things that Oikawa keeps stupidly breaking.

 _Nobody will think badly of you if you do. Nobody will think it’s stupid,_ Iwa-chan continues, like he can actually read Oikawa’s damn mind.

 _Don’t be silly, Iwa-chan,_ Oikawa sings in the exact tone he knows makes Iwa-chan grit his teeth, easing himself gently down onto the bench in front of the sports building, and stretching out his sore legs as best he can. At least he’s finally off those awful crutches. Late spring has been warm and wonderful and it’s almost enough to fill up all the little cold corners that have been lingering inside him, and he wants to stay here forever maybe, with the sunset that spills an orange so heady and thick across the campus green, you could eat it right up. You could probably grab it if you just reached out a hand, and Oikawa does, fingers wiggling, suddenly feeling a little silly but—

The way it lights up the wide open glass windows of the gym so bright and dazzling, it’s like you can see right into the future. You just had to look hard enough. You just had to _want_ it hard enough.

Softly, blindly reaching, _No, I’m not finished here yet._

He changes his major to economics because it seems like the right thing to do. He reads all the books about introductory astronomy and advanced Hollywood special effects and how to properly use the rice cooker his mother gave him, that he never had time to read before. His lunch dates with that nice girl soon turn into dinner dates and apartment visits and going to karaoke with Iwa-chan when he’s in town with his brow pinched in worry, an Iwa-chan who is astonished but keeps it to himself, badly, but it soon falls apart. She hates the way he gets up at stupid o'clock to stubbornly push his rebellious body into pathetic attempts at a light jog. She doesn’t have any patience for the way he still watches match after match after match late into the night, looking for something impossible in the shadow he used to cast under those bright stadium lights, leaving nothing but a restless ghost to keep her company in bed.

 _What are you even preparing for? You’re no longer—_

She doesn’t finish her sentence. She’s been trying, but she’s started to realise that even though Oikawa has never asked for the impossible out loud, there’s something in him that will never be able to stop. There’s nothing but walls in Oikawa’s life and he means to climb each and every one of them, one way or another.

 _Let’s try that new American-style cafe near the law campus tomorrow_ , Oikawa says instead. A growing awareness has been eating away at him like a moth. It’s making a home for itself in the pit of his stomach. _You can tell me what’s on your mind._

She only wishes him the best.

His therapy schedule shifts three months in and he has to start doing his laundry on Sunday evenings instead of Saturday, and it’s like these last months, all these last few years, mean nothing at all, it’s like he’s been climbing an impossible wall with his teeth grit to breaking to find something even more impossible on the other side.

For the first time in years, Oikawa meets Kageyama Tobio again as he walks in through the yellow-stained glass doors of this old, cramped laundromat looking like a nightmare Oikawa has been daydreaming on and off about for the longest time.

“Tobio-chan!” The fluorescent lights flicker like someone just hit rewind on his life, and his stomach jolts with all the nerves and sleepless nights he’s pushed deep down to grow wild and unheeded there for months. He feels like a teenager all over again. He feels the ugly unsurety of it crash into him like a wave. “Look at you, it’s like I’m being cursed!”

Tobio frowns down at himself like maybe an explanation is hidden somewhere in-between the stripes of the horrible tiger print t-shirt he’s wearing, and it paints such a ridiculous tableau, Oikawa can’t help but leer.

“What kind of nasty bet did you lose so you were forced to wear that shirt?” Midnight creeps blue and electric and alive on the doorstep, but in here, it’s just the unnatural yellow light holding everything suspended like dust slowly whirling on itself in the air, nowhere to go but to pile up inside Oikawa’s chest. “You should have planned your beautiful reunion with Oikawa-san much better than this!”

Tobio is also wearing bright blue running shorts that look a size too small, stretched snug and high across his thighs, topped off with a black baseball cap with HOLLYWOOD emblazoned in dirty white across the brim. He looks like he’s maybe grown taller, shed some of the roundness in his cheeks if the clean, sharp clench of his jaw is anything to go by, and he’s definitely several kilos of muscle heavier that seem to have all gone into the thickness of his arms and shoulders.

Oikawa’s laundry thumps in the dryer behind him like it’s laughing at him and the awareness settles in his gut, sharpens very acutely inside him. In these last few years, Tobio actually had the _nerve_ to become so ridiculously, stupidly h—

“It’s laundry day! And I didn’t know you’d be here!” The frown snaps up at him, gets impossibly frownier, a thing so absurdly and fondly familiar that suddenly Oikawa really does feel like a teenager all over again — uncontained, still ravenous for what the future will bring, a little bit more free. 

The frown settles into a mulish pout. “Hello Oikawa-san.”

“Hello, Tobio-chan.” Oikawa smiles easily despite himself. Who knew he had one of those in him this entire time. “It's been a while!”

“You look—” Tobio swallows and stares over Oikawa’s shoulder at the old dryer rattling away. There’s absolutely nothing of interest in there and all of a sudden, it’s like everything is moving forward again, fast forward, too fast. “You look good.”

A few simple words collapsing into one single strike, happening so quickly Oikawa has to plant his feet on the ground, just to remind himself it's there, just to catch his breath so he doesn’t drown. But Tobio’s eyes flicker with uncertainty, training on him with every shift of Oikawa’s body, piercing blue even in this low yellow light, and it’s— oh, Oikawa will see himself over this one.

This, at least, is a game he’s always known how to play.

“You know, the saying is ‘Flattery will get you nowhere’. But for you—” Oikawa leans gracefully back in the cheap plastic chair, slowly and deliberately throwing one long leg over the other as he winks, delight a little spark in his chest as Tobio’s stupidly sharp cheekbones immediately flush bright red. He can't help himself. It’s almost too easy. He’ll do anything for this particular rush. “It’s _especially_ nowhere.”

The pained noise that Tobio makes is absolutely worth it.

“Oikawa-san—”

The dryer shudders to a halt with a loud screech. Tobio’s mouth is parted like he's about to say something exceedingly, winningly Tobio-like, but his eyes lock onto Oikawa’s now exposed knee brace, and it's like sudden ice water racing through Oikawa’s veins. Something exceedingly Tobio-like is always at risk of being exceedingly terrible. 

“Looks like that's my cue! Have a good laundry, Tobio-chan!” The plastic chair clatters as he rushes to stuff his dried clothes back into his laundry bag, shuffling around Tobio, careful not to touch him, just the thought of this Tobio, finally and undeniably here in Tokyo, with his shoulders taking up all this room, not the same game that it used to be at all. Something too fragile and dangerous unless looked at from a distance. “Maybe I'll see you around, but if I'm lucky, I won't!”

The midnight air hits him full on, a humid and thunderous cloud that somehow chases out all the tension in his lungs; the shadows that fall across his path, clean-edged and blue, waking him up completely.

But Oikawa makes the mistake of looking back.

It’s nothing like staring at each other from opposite sides of the net. Tobio is still glaring at the toppled over plastic chair, as if he was the one left in a nightmare of his own daydream, and the yellowed glass that blurs the strong, clean lines of his body do nothing to hide the confused tilt of Tobio’s head as he looks, keeps looking, looking for something Oikawa knows no longer exists.

 

 

*

 

 

Oikawa exists like this:

In cherry red Adidas track pants and a worn Chuo University t-shirt at his therapy sessions, wearing down his black indoor court shoes on the rough concrete paths that snake along the campus as he forces his muscles to grow into the shape of his new life.

In dark skinny jeans a little tighter than they used to be and an oversized checkered t-shirt as he quickly becomes his statistics professor’s supremely helpful and most darling of students. A cloudy blue button-up he tucks in on the right hip as fastidiously as he sidesteps his old haunts. An exploded Burberry camel plaid crew neck slightly mismatched with the camel chinos he insists are absolutely fine when Iwa-chan comes up for a weekend, what does Iwa-chan know about fashion anyway, no one who wears socks with their Nike slides _in Tokyo of all places_ should be allowed an opinion on anything of importance at all. 

Oikawa only mentions meeting Tobio once Iwa-chan is on the train back home.

 _How’s the kid doing?_ Iwa-chan finally says. Suddenly the diplomat when it came to this. He should give Iwa-chan a damn prize.

_He’s doing fine! When has he never been fine in his whole entire life?_

_Huh. Is he now._

_Of course! Would Oikawa-san lie to you?_ Yellow light in the distance, pulsing slow and never moving, traffic stalled at an intersection. The heady whirl of dust caught in a drain. _He’s— he’s doing absolutely great._

Oikawa makes it three weeks before looking at himself in the mirror is self-inflicted torture, walking his walk of shame in the inhumanely neon orange t-shirt and tattered grey sweatpants that were stuffed at the back of his closet. He’s wearing the bright red satin boxers that say something horrible in English across the ass, and the weirdly smooth slide of them against the inside of his thighs is more terrible than any walk of shame he’s ever had to endure, and he’s desperately hoping that—

Tobio is already there, of course. Staring blankly into the distance, sitting up in one of the plastic chairs so motionless it’s like he’s some artist’s vision trapped in amber. Everything about him is poised in a way, a body perfectly fine-tuned for movement, if too long; legs splayed wide, arms hanging over the sides, this too large boy just spilling out of his seat like nothing as ordinary as a chair could ever contain him.

It fills Oikawa’s chest, twists everything in him hot and tight. The last three weeks he’s been thinking about nothing else, exhausting himself deep into the night turning over and over the shape that Tobio carves out in this space, this Tobio who’s grown up from the past and finally caught up to his present. Shoulders, hands, thighs, clean jaw, tall, tall, tall. Taller, maybe. He hasn’t quite figured it out yet.

But Oikawa can’t let him get ahead. Oikawa absolutely can’t lose at— at _this_.

Oikawa drops his laundry bag on the counter with a pronounced thump. “All topics of conversation are allowed except volleyball!” 

Eyes wide in surprise, delight, a scowl of confusion — it all flits across Tobio’s face like sun over the ocean, bright and bright and dark, and Oikawa just knows the only word he really hung onto was volleyball. How absolutely annoying. How wholly adorable.

“But why—” Tobio’s mouth snaps shut as he jolts upright, like he’s standing at attention. But he stares at his hands, throat working furiously as he swallows down what was probably at least ten volleyball-related questions, and something horrible and tender suddenly pulls Oikawa’s insides even tighter into a knot.

Has Tobio ever stopped trying at anything? Has it never even crossed Tobio’s simple, idiot mind that things could change and leave him behind?

“There’s a cat that lives next to my dorm.” Uncertainty draws Tobio’s brows together, ruffling the dark bangs, and Oikawa wonders when was the last time they were trimmed. Was anybody even looking out for this simple idiot boy here in Tokyo? “It won’t… it won’t come to me.”

So, _so_ simple.

“Have you tried not glaring at it? Small creatures don’t appreciate people looking like they might kill and eat them.”

“That’s just how I look! I— I, yes, I’ve tried.” Tobio grimaces. “I smiled at it.”

“That probably just made it worse! Just be—” Oikawa holds out a hand, palm down, like he’s beckoning someone close. “Wild animals need a gentle hand.”

Blue eyes glint dark in determination and suddenly it feels like a play he should have thought twice about springing. The washing machine behind Tobio thunders loud and insistent, and Oikawa feels it vibrate right into his chest, thundering too loudly there, too, threatening to shake him apart. 

“Okay.” Tobio swallows. He’s close enough to touch. “Okay, Oikawa-san,” Tobio repeats as his fingers circle gently, so gently around Oikawa’s wrist it almost doesn’t feel real, before closing in.

Tobio’s mouth is warm and soft and chapped all at once. The yellow light swings and burns even behind Oikawa’s eyelids but all he can taste is the too warm skin of Tobio’s closed mouth clumsy against his, insistent and demanding in a way that is entirely Tobio, the brand of his fingertips burning right into Oikawa’s wild pulse, and behind closed eyes, he forgets for one moment whether this is winning or losing. It’s all uncertain territory being uncertainly marked in no time at all.

But— this perfect height. Tobio is just as tall as he is now. It curls Oikawa’s toes in his shoes. It pounds in his blood and his hands and his chest like the whole entire mess of his life. “Open your mouth, you idiot,” Oikawa breathes, nothing feels real, nothing feels real at all and it’s like everything pauses just for this, the skipping of his heartbeat, the hard pull of Tobio’s hand, Tobio’s skin radiating warm and wonderful like he can fall right into it. “Let me suck on your tongue.”

The heated noise that Tobio makes is awful and embarrassing and all too real. “Wait! That’s not all I wanted to say! The cat—”

“Ugh! Tobio-chan!” Yellow light, wait, wait, wait. “There is no cat! Try again!” 

Tobio pulls away and his cheeks are so bright red, they glow even in the twilight spilling in through the doors. But he doesn’t let go of Oikawa’s wrist. “I wasn’t lying! There is a cat. But it did… it did come to me.” The smile that tickles the edges of Tobio’s mouth is almost too much, the memory lighting him up like gold. “It ate a piece of chicken from out of my hand.”

It’s suddenly too hot in here. Oikawa feels suddenly too brittle for this game. Too close, too dangerous, too real.

But nothing safe was ever worth playing anyway.

“You’re tremendously bad at this, you know. I deserve better than your clumsy fumbling!”

That smile turns into a smirk. “You’re not very good at this either, Oikawa-san!”

The yellow light sways, pops and hisses. Midnight washes over them like a blue wave made to drown them completely, and Oikawa pushes Tobio up against the washing machine thumping away behind them.

 

 

*

 

 

Tobio makes sure to talk about something new every time.

How Yachi-san made him apply enough English so he could at least read the street signs meant for tourists, how he keeps falling asleep in his chemistry lectures, the way Tsukishima drags him to study groups because he's wholly and completely disgusted by the idea of Tobio failing out of his sports scholarship. 

“This shirt is my senpai shirt,” Tobio explains, pulling at the hem of the tiger print t-shirt he's wearing again, turned a lurid orange under the yellow light that criss-crosses overhead. It’s their third laundry encounter, too hot to do anything except slump against the counter, summer sitting in the sheen of sweat that sticks Tobio’s bangs to his forehead. He definitely needs that trim now. “Tanaka-senpai gave it to me when I became vice-captain in my third year at Karasuno.” That small slip of a golden smile again, so close, so dangerous. “He said it would bring me senpai luck here in Tokyo, too.”

Oikawa has since bought new running shoes and is easily jogging two full kilometres now. When he walks to class in the morning all his plaids match. But the space Tobio takes up is still too big, the shadow he now casts something truly impossible, and Oikawa doesn’t know how to get around it, let alone climb past it. So he walks right into it instead. “And has it brought you any senpai luck at all?” Touches the tip of his tongue to the top of his lip, lets it wet his mouth slow and slick.

The effect is immediate. The way Tobio stares at what he wants is— it’s like being eaten alive right up on the spot. A thrill that runs from the breath in Oikawa’s throat right down to his toes. Meeting that stare on the court is one thing, where they’re fighting toe-to-toe, where he’s electric with the idea that he could eat Tobio up whole, too, but there’s a hole worn into the sole of one of Oikawa’s indoor court shoes, and—

And.

And they haven’t kissed since that day and Tobio, Tobio radiates _want_ like he’s ready to take Oikawa apart piece by piece, until he can find what he’s been chasing after for so long.

It’s like striking a match to all the stupid brittle empty things that have sat for too long in the pit of Oikawa’s stomach.

One of the dryers groans a deep complaint at his stupidity. A yellow light flickers in agreement, and someone walks by in front of the laundromat, a blurry figure whistling an unknowable tune, and it’s like the summer air is so heavy and humid it holds even the hour in place. Oikawa’s phone is face down on the counter. It could be midnight, or 2AM, or 4AM, or even noon on the other side of the world. Unreal. Too real. Time just doesn’t work that way.

And sometimes all you can do is let things go and bet it all on the future instead.

“You can ask me one, _one_ , do you understand, Tobio-chan, _one single_ volleyball question,” Oikawa sighs. He made that rule. He set up that wall. Only him.

Tobio’s eyes brighten to an impossible blue. His stare flits around, touching on Oikawa’s hands resting against the dryer, touching the ceiling, the window looking outside, the shadow that the passer-by left behind, stretching across the threshold like ink.

“I like you,” Tobio finally says, spine straight, hands gripped so tight into fists at his side they’re quivering. His eyes are so focused he looks manic but he’s not even looking at Oikawa at all. 

“What the fuck.” It tumbles out of Oikawa’s mouth before his thoughts can catch up to him. “That’s not volleyball related at all!”

“I like you even without your volleyball, Oikawa-san,” Tobio mumbles, face red and brows creased like even he’s confused by this. “Please don’t hate me.”

His knee aches a little bit in the humidity and his chest is filled up to the brim with something too overwhelming to untangle even a little bit, but he could never hate Tobio. How could he? Tobio has never been anything but honest with him. Tobio has only ever looked ahead, confident that Oikawa would be right there, too. “Do you even know what that means?”

It’s an impossible question with an impossible answer. Because Oikawa knows what he is — he’s a good student and he can trace the summer triangle in the night sky now and interrupt bad movies to tell you how they staged that particular stunt and make a decent rice ball and he looks fucking amazing in matched plaid outfits and he’s two, no, three kilometres of running in the mornings even though the idea of waking up with the sun has always made him want to die a little.

“Your personality is still sometimes bad and I know I shouldn’t like it, but,” Tobio shrugs, and all that tense energy seems to flow out of him just like that, a wave washing them both clean. “But I like it. I like what I like. I like the way your nose does that happy thing when you talk about a book you just read.” Something in Oikawa’s chest flutters and oh, he’ll have to deal with that later. He’ll have to deal with so much later. “Hinata said the world was bigger than volleyball and to understand volleyball better, I had to understand everything else a little better, too.” 

“I can’t believe chibi-chan is smarter than you! I think I owe Iwa-chan 2000 yen now.”

“You don’t need to answer me right away,” Tobio continues. “But I would like to kiss you again.”

Tobio is so earnest, so eager, all Oikawa wants to do is play this game just a little longer. Make him reach a little higher, chase a little more, like they’ll always do. “And what if I never answer?”

That smirk again. “I think I’ll kiss you anyway, Oikawa-san.” What a brat. What a delight. How dare he.

Oikawa notes with some satisfaction that he’s still faster.

The yellow light flickers wildly as he threads his fingers gently through Tobio’s too long bangs to pull him close, lips pressing, pressed hard and demanding to the soft skin of his forehead, wanting Tobio to know exactly what he means. Just wanting this Tobio who smells of summer sweat and fresh cotton and a soft sigh of surprise as that stupid light finally, finally goes out and midnight sweeps over them blue and electric and alive.

Tobio’s fingers fumble for his in the dark, and Oikawa’s heart thunders like it’s a game all over again, playing, fast forward, just fast enough.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Volleyball is basically just a shorthand for love.)
> 
> This had a whole ass plot and then I forgot what it was except for the part where I wanted them to make out in a laundromat. Sorry.


	11. a kiss out of love 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felt kinda bad that people who prompt things probably aren't looking for a whole ass journey lol so here's a kiss epilogue to the previous chapter. Some more kissing. A little horny, as you do. 
> 
> Tags: Post-Canon, University, Clothes Swapping, This Laundromat Probably Sees A Significant Amount Of Action

 

 

It takes exactly twenty-six minutes for the old washing machine to complete a wash cycle.

There is only one plastic chair.

It always takes two _no_ ’s for Tobio to stop.

“Bad, bad Tobio-chan!” Oikawa shrieks, almost falling out of Tobio’s lap as two eager hands slide up under his t-shirt. It’s an embarrassingly horrible orange, the KARASUNO in black across the back faded and peeling; it clashes furiously with his mint running shorts so short they’re probably only considered decent in Tokyo.

Tobio had barely looked at him when Oikawa had grabbed the old t-shirt from their desperation pile, until the cotton had pulled a little too tight across Oikawa’s shoulder, had come up a little short at the waist. 

Who knew committing terrible laundry day crimes could be this fun.

“I’m not bad,” Tobio mutters into the dip of Oikawa’s neck, actually nosing at the soft skin there like some damn dog. Teeth nip gently right on the pulse and Oikawa feels like he’s going wild, hot all over, skin tingling, wanting more, needing to draw a line somewhere fast. The plastic chair creaks in protest under their combined weight. The washing machine thumps a loud public warning. Not yet. Not yet.

Tobio’s hair smells of Oikawa’s expensive sweet lemon shampoo. Tobio’s t-shirt smells like fresh cotton, the Aoba Johsai teal washed so many times it might as well be grey. Tobio’s skin smells sharp and salty with summer sweat and he’s just so big and solid under Oikawa’s thighs, delightful in how Oikawa can feel each flex of the hard muscle every time Oikawa skims fingertips over the sensitive skin behind Tobio’s ear as he cups his face, dizzying in the heat that radiates from Tobio’s skin that could burn Oikawa right up from the inside, and as the fluorescent lights flicker like they’re moving in slow motion, Oikawa thinks this is how it feels to fall in love like in the movies, maybe.

Warm fingers trace gently around Oikawa’s ribs, settle at the small of his back. “That tickles! Tobio-chan! No!” But Oikawa is careful not to say _no_ a second time as Tobio presses him closer, tongue so wet and inviting on Oikawa’s jaw it takes everything in him to not just give in. “You said you were going to be a good boy for Oikawa-san!”

Tobio pulls back. A frown creases his brow. His mouth is red and flush and looks ripe enough to eat. “Is this not good?”

Oh, it’s good. It’s better than good.

“Could use some practice,” Oikawa hums instead, fingers brushing Tobio’s bangs back so he doesn’t miss a thing. 

He expects the blue eyes that darken to midnight, the challenging stare that locks right onto his mouth, the hunger, the focus, the forceful grind of Tobio’s hips as his fingers grip so tight it sends a shiver down Oikawa’s spine at the pattern of bruises they’ll leave for later. But— Tobio never hesitates, like he does now, a single unreal moment hanging right there in between them before Tobio’s mouth is soft on his, the press of his lips so gentle that it suddenly doesn’t feel like they’re here in this moment at all, it feels like it’s some spring in the new year, heady and bewildering and so full of promise it’s like the future has already arrived.

All of a sudden, something overwhelming catches in Oikawa’s throat.

“Then I’ll practice,” Tobio mumbles against his lips. Outside the laundromat, Oikawa can hear the buzzing of the cicada in the summer trees, but in here, he feels completely ungrounded in time. His heart feels weightless, freefalling at a hundred miles per hour. “I’ll learn all the things you like, Oikawa-san.”

 _You probably already have._ Instead, “Hmph! Don’t get ahead of yourself, you brat!”

But he can feel Tobio’s heart thundering against his chest, like he’s waiting for something, like he’s reading the court, like Oikawa is suddenly a play by play, and it’s such a terrible rush all Oikawa can manage is to kiss the corner of Tobio’s honest mouth, kiss the tip of his handsome nose, the cute little scrunch of his baffled frown, his soft temple, pull Tobio’s gifted hands from his hips to uncurl those strong, steady fingers and place a kiss right there in the middle of the palm. 

And Tobio gamely chases after Oikawa’s mouth the entire whole damn time, never more than a shadow of a step behind. Just the way Oikawa likes it.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone is going to ask me if the "big and solid" refers to Kageyama's dick and I really don't know how to answer that.


	12. a kiss in joy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why needlessly complicate things like I usually do when, as the saying goes, don’t be afraid, we’ll make it out of this mess, it’s a love story, baby, just say yes. 
> 
> Tags: Post-Canon, Established Relationship, They're Getting Volleyball Married

 

 

Melbourne at twilight glitters around them like a thousand stars but Kageyama already feels blindsided.

“Oikawa-san, is it... a joke to you?”

Everything is coming over too much with their gold medal match tomorrow.

“Don’t be like that!” Oikawa-san laughs, a happy laugh, the one that crinkles up his nose and glows in his eyes like gold and Kageyama’s entire chest goes tight and warm despite how paper-thin he feels, a thread-thin walk across another tightrope to reach what Oikawa-san means. “You actually smiled when I accidentally told the clerk his family name was Ushiwaka! The cute smile! I saw you!” A titter pulls Oikawa-san’s mouth into a smirk. A wink, and Oikawa-san is leaning in to slowly kiss the corner of Kageyama’s mouth, and it’s good, Oikawa-san’s mouth is always so good, but it suddenly doesn’t feel like the right kind of happy at all. “Don’t lie to me, Tobio-chan, I know all of your secrets ☆”

Kageyama’s temper roils in his stomach. “I was serious!” He grabs at Oikawa-san’s hand to pull him away. “Don’t make fun of me. I meant it!” He wants Oikawa-san to understand. He wants Oikawa-san to— to know what he’s trying to say. He wants Oikawa-san to laugh that happy laugh again, but only because Oikawa-san know him like he _knows_ him when they’re on the court together. Years and years and years of this. “I meant all of it. Please.”

Oikawa-san’s pulse is suddenly thunder under Kageyama’s fingertips. “Wait, Oikawa-san, are you nervous?” A heartbeat travelling at a hundred miles per hour, lightning sparking up the night. 

“Of course not! Your captain is perfect and unassailable and knows no fear!” A pout, all too familiar.

“You _are_ nervous.” And all at once— Kageyama can read it in the silence. In the shakiness of Oikawa-san’s breathing in the dark. In the way Oikawa-san’s long fingers curl around to thread themselves through his, holding on so tight it almost hurts, like he thinks Kageyama is going to walk away and get himself lost again like that one terrible year when they were in university. Kageyama huffs, a little put out. “I’m not going to wander off before tomorrow.”

“Bold words from someone who got lost _inside_ city hall.”

“It was big! All the signs were in English!”

Leftover heat still radiates blistering hot off the sidewalk but Oikawa-san suddenly burrowing his face into the bare skin of Kageyama’s neck is hotter, smelling sharp and heady and sweet of summer sweat, the way he smells after a long rally on the court, the way he smells when they lie tangled together in bed, and the air tingles electric and excited all over Kageyama’s skin, a feeling so much like reading Oikawa-san moving in time with him from the same side of the net.

He never thought they could ever play together like this. He never thought that while he was looking at Oikawa-san, Oikawa-san was looking right back.

Years and years and years of this. Oikawa-san’s strong shoulders are crowding him and he wants to wrap his arms around this Oikawa-san who lights up his life with endless summers, but his hand is still being gripped so hard Kageyama thinks his fingers will go numb.

 _“You are also big, but I don’t get lost,”_ Oikawa-san sniffs in English, voice wobbling, a little petulant, a little damp.

“Please don’t use your terrible English on me, Oikawa-san, I can’t even tell if you’re flirting.” But he carefully unlaces their fingers anyway because he needs to make sure Oikawa-san is looking at him right now, palms cupping his jaw, just feeling everything so much and so hard at Oikawa-san that surely he can read Kageyama now, too. _“We are team with the best.”_

Oikawa-san blinks rapidly, eyes glittering like all the stars in the night sky. He’s beautiful. And even now, the way he looks right at Kageyama, like he’s already looking ahead at what comes next — it clenches something so sharp and eager in Kageyama’s chest, it’s a physical ache, a pool of want that floods him to the very tips of his fingers. Sometimes Kageyama has to stop because he didn’t think Oikawa-san could ever be more amazing than that vision crystallised in his young mind so many years ago, but they’ve both grown so much to be here now, like this, at the top of the world and even more amazing than they could ever be apart, and Kageyama wants to look at him just like this, for years and years and years. 

“I hope Mikasa doubles your sponsorship when you use one of their _slogans_ as your _marriage vows_.”

 _“Forever,”_ Kageyama manages. Something lodges in his throat and it feels like fireworks are going off in his chest, burning him up, summer sweet, but it’s the good kind, so warm and solid he thinks he can hold his happiness like a real thing in his hands. _“We are a team forever.”_ He’s just happy to be here, win or lose— win. “We’re not going to lose tomorrow.”

“I promised I was going to put gold around your neck, and Oikawa-san keeps his promises!" His fingers are light as they run up Kageyama's arms, but it feels like they're tingling sparks right under his skin as Oikawa-san smiles against his mouth, and there’s a laugh there, that happy laugh again, and Kageyama wants to hold it inside him forever, wants to eat all of it up, so he does, pressing his forehead against Oikawa-san's so it tips his mouth up just right, Oikawa-san’s mouth warm and a little wet and salty and just so good as it curves into an even bigger smile against his own.

 _“I do, too,”_ Kageyama smiles back, and kisses Oikawa-san again, and again, and again.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought it should be Oikawa's turn to get an emotional letter of recommendation but y'all writing something that wasn't just cut-up newspaper letters that spell out VOLLEYBALL was definitely a creative exercise lol.


	13. a kiss on a falling tear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Happy July 9th](https://twitter.com/thereputation13/status/1148461144249720832) to all those who love to party hard on this beautiful national holiday :) 
> 
> Tags: Post-Canon, Maybe A Breakup, Minor Angst

 

 

It happens like everything else that has happened for them.

Twilight falling in shadows through the university gym windows. Muscles pinched tight — exhaustion, frustration, hands tangled, Oikawa sneering down at Tobio, Tobio glaring up at Oikawa. A breakthrough. A jump serve smashed along the end line like a hurricane. Summer is thick and humid on the ground and Oikawa is gulping down air by the mouthful, but Tobio grabs his jaw in both hands and kisses him anyway, hard and insistent and clumsy, missing his mouth on the first try, catching the drip of sweat on Oikawa’s cheek on the second, and Oikawa is not even mad.

Oikawa kisses back so hard he can feel Tobio’s breath rattle in his chest, but Tobio doesn’t give it up for even a moment, fingers furtively threading through the damp hair at the back of Oikawa’s neck, kissing slow, small open-mouthed kisses all over Oikawa’s lips like Tobio has studied too many stupid romance movies about kissing, and his stupid handsome mouth not actually been kissed nearly enough.

Oikawa is going to change that. He nips at Tobio’s bottom lip and he can feel Tobio’s heartbeat jump so hard it’s like it’s his own, pounding red hot in his throat, in his hands, deep in his gut.

Tobio’s feet slide on the smooth gym floor. “Are we—” He suddenly looks bewildered. His gaze flickers darkly and for one wild, ridiculous moment it’s like watching a rally of _Oikawa-san’s flushed mouth, Oikawa-san’s fingers brushing over his hips, Oikawa-san’s tongue tasting his teeth_ and Tobio is somehow even more tempting with his face bright red and blotchy like this, flustered, still chasing, and Oikawa almost can’t stand it.

“Yes! We’re whatever this is, Tobio-chan!”

Oikawa grabs Tobio by the elbows so he can shut him up with another kiss and he really should have known better, should have known that love, just like a jump serve, like a perfect set, like a setter dump— is something that once Tobio learns from watching him, can only one day be used against him in turn.

 

 

*

 

 

There’s nothing that could have made Tobio stay. The contract with the Italian team is just too good, and Tobio is just too good.

“You’re never prepared for winter!” Oikawa carefully folds his treasured Burberry scarf so Tobio can take it with him. Their apartment was never that big to begin with but with most of Tobio’s things packed into storage, it’s like ghosts have already moved into the empty space. Oikawa can feel them cold at the back of his neck, freezing his chest piece by piece, but he won’t let them. He won’t. “And it’s probably a crime to look unfashionable in Italy!”

Tobio scowls. “It’s the one you always wear.” But he takes the scarf, fingers stroking it, distracted. “I’m always too hot anyway—” Sandalwood and musk whiffs up from the cashmere, the ghost of Oikawa’s cologne hanging in the air between them.

“Oh,” Tobio says. “Oh,” Tobio says again so quietly, so fragmented, and Oikawa almost can’t stand it.

Sunrise creeps unwanted along the edge of the window. Tobio’s flight leaves early in the morning, but time is moving so slowly it’s like there’s nothing else in the world except them sitting in the middle of the floor, pushing the small miserable pieces of what’s left of their life together back and forth between them as if it was just that easy to cross an ocean.

“Don’t you dare say anything else, Tobio-chan! I’m not crying!”

Tobio is staring at him. Tobio’s eyes are much too bright and unwavering and blue in a way Oikawa has never seen before and a year seems like no time at all and a year seems like forever, and Oikawa watches as something trembles through Tobio’s hands clenched at his sides, but they stay right there.

“We can be whatever we are like this, too,” Tobio mutters instead, leaning over to press his lips to Oikawa’s cheek. Stays just like that. Just like in the movies. Oikawa can feel Tobio’s lashes fluttering close, Tobio’s mouth shaking against his skin, too, and he can’t stand it, he can’t stand any of this. “I’m not crying either, Oikawa-san.”

His hands fumble for Oikawa’s now, and it seems impossible how ice cold they are. But no matter how long Oikawa holds them tight in his, his thumb smoothing over and over and over the callused palms he knows like his own, wants to touch them so he can keep knowing them, they don’t get any warmer until the sun does rise, and time starts to move again, moving the both of them along with it.

There’s nothing that could have made Oikawa keep Tobio back.

They both have always deserved the world. It was just that the world was never offered to Oikawa, too.

“I'm going to crush him and his Italian team,” Oikawa says to the new day, but his words sound empty even to him.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's probably only fair to give you a first kiss if you have to have a last kiss but also, I couldn't even break them up properly, I'm too soft lol.

**Author's Note:**

> [And we rule the kingdom inside my room.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A7m2a-HCVpM)


End file.
